


Close Your Eyes (But Don't Dream Too Deep)

by Silent-Wordsmith (Shatteredsand)



Series: Don't Dream Too Deep [1]
Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alex Knows She's a Lesbian, But really more like, Canon Compliant, Could Technically Be, F/F, Fantasy, Guilt, Masturbation, Pre-Canon, Pseudo-Incest, Service Top!Kara, college!Alex, dom!Kara, high school!Kara, it's not incest if one of them is an alien, mostly - Freeform, sub!Alex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-10-01 06:51:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10183322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shatteredsand/pseuds/Silent-Wordsmith
Summary: Alex is home from Stanford for Christmas vacation. Pretending she doesn’t feel like this was easier with miles between her and Kara.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Clonesy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clonesy/gifts).



> AN: After a long absence from the world of smut, I have returned. Happy (belated) Sinmas.
> 
> AN2: I’m aware this is going up mid-March, but in my defense, it’s actually been done since, like, December 19th. AND I wrote a slew of sequels while waiting to be able to upload, so. Forgive me?

Alex knows she shouldn’t be doing this. This is _wrong_. Kara is young, younger than her sixteen years make her seem because she’s only been on _Earth_ for a measly three. She’s still awed by simple things like seagulls and pigeons—there were no birds on Krypton, Alex can hear an excited Kara say with wonder—and this is _wrong_. 

Kara is supposed to be her sister. She _isn’t_ , but she’s supposed to be. Three years can’t destroy the fact that Alex was fifteen the first time she saw Kara, on the sandy beaches of her home, holding Superman’s hand like a lifeline. Alex had been fifteen to Kara’s thirteen, both grown _enough_ , and she couldn’t see her as a sister. She saw an interloper, and then a scared girl, and she’d reacted to both as best she could. Angry and cold, protective and hot-headed in their turn. But she still couldn’t see Kara as a sister, no matter how hard she tried.  She had tried so hard. She wanted to be everything her father wanted from her, her mother expected of her, to be the Alex Danvers they’d wanted to see. But Dad was gone, lost in some stupid plane crash for business, and Mom had withdrawn almost to the point of complete abandonment, only absent from work long enough to chastise Alex for not being a better sister, for not taking better care of Kara, for not being _enough_.

And then puberty had well and truly hit the Kryptonian, and Alex had been _weak_.

She’d known, of course, that she didn’t like boys the way she was “ _supposed_ ” to. That girls intrigued her, excited her, made her wet even when they shouldn’t. Even when _Kara_ shouldn’t. And, later, she’ll have to have a big coming out with her mother, at least, but right now….

Right now, all she feels is hot, and wet, and desperately needy. And it’s wrong, because Kara is supposed to be her sister. Kara is her responsibility, someone she’s supposed to teach and protect, but she looks at Kara these days…

She looks at Kara and all she sees are curves that are oh so human despite being so very much Other and a kindness that is so foreign that it’s almost blatant that Kara isn’t from this planet. There’s something painfully innocent about the girl living just across the hall from her, no matter the strength Alex knows is oh-so-carefully hidden by Kara’s sweaters. Because Kara hugs her tighter than anyone else on the planet will ever manage, squeezes the air from her lungs until her bones creak in her skin and there are bruises on her back in the shape of Kara’s hands, not a dominance display meant to put Alex in her place—human, lesser than—but a joyful accident of overenthusiasm.

It’s _wrong_ and she _shouldn’t_ , but she doesn’t care right now. She’ll be the model foster big sister later, in the morning. Right now, she is eighteen and wet and so damn _desperate_.

Her hand slips down over her chest, slowly. So fucking slowly. Like she thinks Kara would. Because Kara is always so careful with her, so slow and gentle. It’s only when Kara’s overwhelmed, too caught up in something, that she lets herself slip enough to accidentally bruise.

Alex’s breath shudders out, her hand barely beginning to dip under the waistband of her panties. She wonders, not for the first time and likely not for the last, what it would be like to be the reason Kara lost herself. To see bruises darkening around her wrists, her hips, her thighs in the shape of Kara’s fingerprints. Something more than the mottled purple-black-yellow on her shoulders, her spine, after Kara’s hugged her with unsafe eagerness.

 _Fuck_. It’s just an image, she hasn’t even _done_ anything yet, but Alex doesn’t have to move her hand to know just how she’s gushed at the thought. It shouldn’t be a surprise—her first semester of college has made it explicitly clear just how much she likes what she likes, knows  the people on her floor probably think she’s dating someone named “harder, fuck, _harder_ ”—but it’s always, always somehow _more_ when she thinks of Kara.

Which a loaded sentiment that she’ll unpack approximately one day after the world ends.

She finally lets her hand slip lower, just the lightest touch to start, just running her fingers through wet folds. Kara would be curious, would be awed, would still be being careful. It would take time, excruciating minutes of begging and pleading and desperation, before Kara would start to break, to lose control. To let go and go _hard_. The way Alex wants her to. God, she wants her to.

Alex _would_ beg. She knows she would. She’d beg and moan and _sob_ for it.

Alex can feel another flood of wetness slide over her fingers.

“Kara, please.” It’s barely a whisper, Alex knows she can’t be loud, but what it lacks in volume is more than made up for in intensity. “ _Please_.”

Slow, steady strokes at her clit. She’s so wet it’s hard to get traction, to get the friction she needs. But Kara would fumble at first, too. Still trying to be careful with her, but maybe—god, _hopefully_ —starting to lose it just a little.

“Please, please, fuck…” She grinds against her palm, middle finger poised at her entrance but not giving her what she wants yet. Fuck, she can see it so perfectly, the way Kara would look up at her. There’d be something in her eyes, something like wonder and something like hunger and something just a shade darker than that, something Alex hasn’t seen before but just _knows_ would be there.

And she’d tilt her head to the side, in that way of hers, and say, “ _Please what, Alex_?”

From someone else, it would be teasing or mocking or demanding, but, shit, Kara would _mean_ it. She’d make Alex spell it out, not knowing what it was doing to her, to have to ask, to know that all she had to do was _ask_ …

“Inside. Please. Fuck, fuck, fuck, _please_.” She doesn’t have to say it. Kara isn’t really there and the hand she’s desperately grinding against is her own, the finger hesitating at the warm wetness is hers, but she feels like she does. To keep the fantasy, to maintain the illusion, to make it feel _real_.

God, she wants it to be real.

She slips her middle finger inside, curling to brush against her sensitive front wall, and it’s all she can do to temper the wail at the back of her throat into a soft moan.

“ _Yes_ , please. Please.”

She knows her own body, knows exactly how to move—how much pressure to apply, how quickly—to come hard and fast. But that isn’t what she wants right now. It would destroy the fantasy she’s built up, the idea that this wasn’t her hand, it was _Kara’s_. Kara wouldn’t know that, not yet—not ever, _can’t_ ever—and she has to act accordingly or everything will unravel.

Slow, measured thrusts and a curl of the finger inside her that Alex thinks—somehow knows—would be instinctive. Too slow, too measured, too _gentle_ and too _careful_. She wants more, needs more, needs what she knows Kara could give her if only the other girl could only stop being so self-conscious. Kara’s too in her head, even in a fantasy, to _fuck_ Alex the way Alex wants her to.

Oh, she’s sure there would be tender love-making some nights—can acknowledge that slow and soft would feel _right_ with Kara, the way they never do with any of the girls she drags to bed at Stanford—but that’s not what she wants tonight, and she knows that Kara would give in, wouldn’t be able to help herself, if Alex just played her cards the right way.

Kara never could stand to give Alex anything less than what she’d asked for and so often strove to ensure that it was more than that as well. Kara wants to give Alex everything she can, even when she shouldn’t, even when her best is so extraordinary that it’s dangerous. This—in the hazy mindscape of a fantasy and longing that Alex exists in this moment, heedless of the harsh realities of the Real World—is the safest place for Kara to do that.

“Come _on_ , Kara.” She grits out, hips bucking against the easy pressure, the too light touch. “Please.”

Alex hasn’t said that word so much in her entire life—she doesn’t know those other girls, not the way she knows Kara, and she’ll take her clothes off for them but she won’t _beg_ for them—but it feels right. Feels close to _real_. As close as she can afford to get, hidden fantasies in the dark, whispers in the shadows. Kara gives her everything she asks for; she only has to _ask_. A pulse of slick wetness coating her hand at the realization that Kara could be a _god_ , the way her cousin could be a god, and Alex could have her on her knees with a _word_.

She’s self-aware enough to know that she wants Kara to hurt her—just a little, just _enough_ —to use her strength and her speed against her, _for_ her, in all the ways that make her keen and moan and sob. Self-aware enough to know that she doesn’t want trembling submission from the alien could-be god sleeping down the hall. Self-aware enough to know that, yes, she kind of does, just not the way it’s always played out in bad porn where she ties Kara up or tells her she can’t come unless Alex tells her to. No, she wants to own Kara, the same way she wants to be owned by her. Or, more accurately, to let Kara know that she _already_ owns Alex.

She wants bruises that claim ownership. Fucking until she can’t stand, let alone walk, the next day. Orgasm after orgasm until Alex has to beg Kara to stop because she just can’t anymore, because another one would wreck her beyond recovery. She wants Kara giving her _everything_ she wants, exactly because she knows she wants it. Exactly _how_ she knows she wants it.

She doesn’t need to hold Kara down to have her; she needs Kara willing to let go enough to hold _her_ down.

She slips a second finger in with the first at the silent admission. A groan low in her throat at the stretch, but she’s wet enough—more than wet enough—to not bother being gentle about it. She doesn’t _want_ gentle anyways.

“Fuck.” She picks up the pace, a little. Thinks Kara would, maybe, be a little distracted—listening to her heartrate spike, listening to her swear and plead, watching her face—that she might speed up without noticing, without that intrinsic hesitation that she could so very easily hurt the human she was inside of. Without thinking that maybe Alex _wanted_ her to. “ _Kara_.”

And faster still. Hoping that hearing her name fall off Alex’s lips like that would produce a reaction in the younger girl, another lapse in control. A little too desperate to keep the fantasy of Kara away from the reality of her present need. A shade of embarrassment for _being_ that desperate—Alex Danvers is a lot of things, but desperate isn’t usually one of them—but this is the privacy of her own bedroom, in her childhood home, in the dark of night, and a little weakness is excusable if only because she _is_ a little desperate.

Kara always makes her so _damned_ desperate.

The pressure is building, low in her belly. Clit engorged with need, wetness running over her fingers and trembling thighs.

“Please.” Alex gasps, so close. So close. “Please, please, _please_.”

Her orgasm is building, tugging somewhere below her navel, pounding in her clit, thrumming through her veins. So close, so close, so close.

In the fantasy, this is where Kara would lose any semblance of control. Would slip up, use her speed and strength in their fucking—their _lovemaking_ —and fuck Alex with an intensity no one else on the planet could. And thinking about it, even if she can’t feel it—can’t manage to make her own hands capable of the things Kara’s are—is enough.

A half breathed out name, a shuttered moan of a scream, as everything she is shudders and quakes. The orgasm, the fantasy, is better than anything any one of her collegiate trysts have given her, no matter how long they’d shared a bed. How long she’d demanded more and harder and _more_.

And she knows, she _knows_ okay, exactly how fucked up it is that she gets off thinking about her alien foster sister. She’ll try harder, in the morning, to kill these feelings. She’ll go back to school and find some girl who will get her over it. She’ll drink and dance and fuck, and she’ll find someone who makes her come just as hard as the illusion of Kara’s hands on her.

A tentative knocking on the door and a soft “Alex?” interrupts Alex’s pointless self-recriminations and empty promises. “Are you okay?”

Super. Fucking. Hearing.

Taking a moment to wipe her hand off on the sheet and hoping she looks more composed than she feels, Alex gets up to let Kara in.

She’s beautiful in the moonlight—she’s _always_ so beautiful—and Alex hates herself for noticing. For _wanting_.

Kara’s eyes dart all over her, and Alex wishes it meant more than it does. Wishes Kara was checking her out instead of just making sure she was physically unharmed.

“I’m fine, Kara.” Alex breathes out, trying not to notice how cute the blush on Kara’s cheeks is, the shallowness of her breathing, the way she looks…turned on? Alex blinks, looks closer.

“You didn’t sound fine.” Kara murmurs, head dipping, eyes on the floor now. “I thought you might have been having a nightmare.”

There’s a tension in Kara that Alex has never seen in her before, some frenetic energy buzzing underneath her skin, obvious enough for even human eyes to see. Despite the orgasm she literally _just_ had, Alex feels desire sparking below her navel again at the sight of Kara’s flushed face, the trembling in her spine, the clench of her thighs.

“No.” Alex breathes out, shuddery and breathless. It doesn’t mean anything. Even if Kara _is_ aroused, it’s not because she heard Alex getting off, it’s just… _It’s nothing at all_. “I was, you know…”

“What?” That guileless innocence, that out-of-this-world naivety. That head tilt and eyes that ask questions that Alex isn’t sure she has the answers for.

This is a new level of embarrassment, where she has to explain that she was touching herself to someone who could hear her moan _her_ name as she came.

“I was masturbating, okay?” Alex says, all one breath, a rush of sounds that Alex can barely decipher as words.

“I don’t.” Kara hesitates, fidgets, all those most endearing alien traits. “I don’t know what that means.”

Another painful moment of displacement, of having to explain something so simple, so _ordinary_ —no matter how embarrassing—to someone who grew up in a different civilization, a different world. The things that are intrinsic to Alex are things that Kara has never learned, and the gap between those worlds is glaring now, once again.

Alex doesn’t know how to explain, how to tell this alien that sometimes—oftentimes, _every_ time—the feeling of her own hand, while thinking about someone who is supposed to be her sister, is better than some random lover she’s picked up from a bar or club.

“Humans,” Alex starts, falters. Deep breath, and tries again. “Humans feel good when they touch certain parts of themselves. It’s, like, stress relief.”

Kara’s blush intensifies, even though Alex knows—she just _knows_ —that Kara isn’t picking up on all the subtleties of what Alex just told her.

“Oh.” Kara breathes out, and Alex tries to ignore the way she notices Kara’s thighs clenching again. It doesn’t mean anything, Kara doesn’t _know_ ; it _can’t_ mean anything.

“I heard my name.” Kara says, pauses, continues, “I thought, I feared, that maybe I was a monster in your dreams.”

Alex sucks in a breath sharply. She doesn’t know how to explain that for all of Kara’s god-like power, she’s never once feared her. Even when Alex told herself that she hated the alien who had come into her home and stolen her parents’ attention and affection, she was never _afraid_ of Kara. This small, scared alien who was so worried that she’d break these fragile humans who promised to care for her. Resented her, yes, however briefly. Despised her, on Alex’s worst days, when she’d done something good only for her parents to ignore it in favor of their new superhuman daughter. But never _feared_.

“No.” Alex says, sure and firm. After her father died, there’s very little Alex is sure of, but _this_ is one of the only things. “ _Never_.” Kara will never be something monstrous to her, never be something she is afraid of. There is nothing fearsome in Kara at all, despite the powers she has.

“Can I sleep with you?” Kara asks, voice smaller than her growing body—taller, now, than Alex already—and the strength hidden in her bones. She sounds weak and vulnerable, and Alex should say no. They’re grown now—Kara isn’t a lost orphan of space and time anymore, clinging to any part of this world she can—and it’s not _appropriate_. Alex is eighteen, Kara is sixteen, and everything about this is wrong.

Alex has just gotten off thinking about Kara’s hands against her, _in_ her, and sharing a bed now would be _wrong_. Like the fantasy had been wrong. Like her wanting is wrong.

This isn’t okay, this isn’t _right_ , but Kara looks at her with those soft, soft eyes and Alex is helpless to resist.

She doesn’t _want_ to resist.

“Yeah.” Alex forces a grin, tries to ignore the fluttering in her stomach, the reignited heat between her thighs. “Always.”


End file.
